


city of millions

by awkwardedgeworth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Growing Up, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Slice of Life, University, brief mention of injury, mentions of drinking, transitioning from high school to university
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27472354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardedgeworth/pseuds/awkwardedgeworth
Summary: "How does it feel to do volleyball and school?"The lemon tea is both warm, sour and sweet at the same time. Sakusa can't help but think of the time he bought this drink in the quiet hallways of Ajinomoto's training center, snores coming out of the boy's dormitory.He thinks of one Miya Atsumu, who took the warm can pressed to his bare knees, covered in bruises, as Sakusa walked away without his drink because he knew how loneliness felt.sakusa and growing up, a story told in three years
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 255





	city of millions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [immunitysystem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immunitysystem/gifts).



> cw: general anxiousness about transitioning from high school to university, brief mention of injury, mentions of drinking

_"As we go through life we gradually discover who we are, but the more we discover, the more we lose ourselves."_

_-Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage_

He notices it when he's sitting in the lecture hall, feeling vaguely ill and wondering if there's something going around the student body.

He doesn't sit in the front of the class, unlike the dozens of eager students wagging their tails to impress the professor. He doesn't sit in the back because he likes to see notes clearly and he avoids the aisle seats since there's always foot traffic 

So the seat he chooses is somewhere near the front of the hall, in the middle of the row with one wall trapping him in.

He's given thought into it. It's not towards the back where people talk and it's not near the front where he has to keep himself awake so the professor won't call him out for nodding off. Sitting in the middle of the row near the front allows him to listen and pay attention while staying away from other people.

Like he's isolating himself.

"Sakusa-san?"

Sakusa looks up. Akaashi Keiji smiles down at him, glasses perched on his face and his hand gripping the strap of his backpack hanging off one shoulder, "May I sit here?"

There are seven unclaimed seats around him. Sakusa nods, drawing his elbows into his sides as the professor strolls into the room and the puppies at the very front row straighten in time for first year statistics.

Akaashi becomes a familiar face on his Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning block of classes. He already knew him, of course, since Fukurodani has a reputation. Sakusa had Akaashi's number since the start of their third year of high school where they text about setting up matches. It's very clinical and professional.

Akaashi sits down across of him, a tray of cafeteria food fogging his glasses up. Curry rice, miso soup and okra salad. 

Sakusa lifts his bento from his backpack and they both mumble a prayer of thanks, their bubble quiet among other students laughing and talking.

"I didn't know you were going to Waseda," Akaashi takes a stab at conversation. Sakusa flits his eyes up, seeing his sea green eyes hidden behind his glasses. 

It's odd how someone changes just within a few months. Itachiyama and Fukurodani had played several practice matches before Nationals, but once Fukurodani lost in the second round, Akaashi retired and Sakusa hadn't seen him in person since. 

His face is softer, opposite of the hard clench of his jaw when Fukurodani trooped out of the arena in January. It reminds him of Komori, who is basically on the opposite side of Honshu.

"I got scouted," Sakusa mumbles, poking the sad looking bento he packed with last night's leftovers. Dinner was spent in his room, headphones blocking out all sounds as he studies.

"Congratulations."

He shrugs it off, "You didn't go pro, how come?"

Akaashi freezes.

To the people looking at them, scouting for free tables, they look like any other university student. Their backpacks, dark circles and sweatshirts represent hours of studying. Coupled with the duffle bag below Sakusa's feet, and people could probably pin that he's a varsity player, perhaps a second string or benchwarmer.

But to Sakusa, Akaashi had always been a setter to be wary of. No one is given the title of vice-captain during their second year, no one is as formidable and cunning, being the starting setter halfway into his first year at a powerhouse school. 

Sakusa ducks his head down, "Sorry, you don't need to tell—"

A chuckle slips out of his mouth. Sakusa raises his head, watching the broccoli clamped between his chopsticks fall.

He had a crush on Akaashi for a brief stint while he was in second year. Komori had needled him to get his number in one of the practice matches between their schools. They huddled off to the side as they drank water in between sets when Bokuto Koutarou skipped over to Akaashi, throwing his arm around him.

"Oh," Komori blurted out, before gasping and covering his mouth. Sakusa looked down at his shoes, feeling something like embarrassment and shame color his ears, "Oh. Um. Sorry, Kiyoomi—"

"It's okay," He peeked his head up to see a sea of red rising from Akaashi's neck. His chest ached vaguely for the rest of practice, and Komori sat next to him on the bus ride home, pressing his shoulders against his in comfort until Sakusa leaned back.

"I wanted something else," Akaashi tells him mildly, a smile gracing his mouth. He looks much happier now compared to his third year, before the smile trails off into uncertainty, "But...it's difficult isn't it? Transitioning."

Sakusa thinks about how he had nearly gotten off at his old stop, the ache between his ribcage when he goes home and spots his old school uniform in the trains as everyone squeezes shoulder to shoulder like sardines in a can. 

And it is wrong, the maroon uniform he now wears, the absence of his smiling cousin when Sakusa looks at the back line, the fact that Akaashi is spending lunch with him when it should be Sakusa slapping Komori's hands away from his octopus sausages.

He should be happy that he's playing against excellent players. It's what he wanted all his life, to have someone to challenge him, like how Ushijima fueled his love for volleyball from a constant flame into an all-consuming want.

He should be, but the fact is, he isn't.

"It is," He confesses, raising his head to see that he and Akaashi are wearing matching smiles, knowing that in each other's minds, they're thinking about the squeak of court shoes, cold watermelons served after a summer day and half frozen Pocari Sweat prepared by their managers.

They sometimes talk about volleyball when they find a free moment between Akaashi's classes and Sakusa's practices. Their talks migrate from the cafeteria to acceptable restaurants that has passed Sakusa's scrutiny as the days become longer.

Sakusa learns about Konoha, Akaashi's senpai who goes to Keio and is currently drowning in lab work. He learns about Washio too, who is also Komori's teammate, and of Komi and Sarukui and Suzumeda-san and Shirofuku-san who Bokuto still owes money to this day.

He tells Akaashi about his cousin, how his parents are the leading trauma surgeons in the Greater Tokyo Area. He glosses over the years of fending for himself since Akaashi's eyebrows pucker, sipping on a cold bottle of green tea from the vending machine and wishing winter is around the corner.

They people watch on a park bench, children in yukatas running to a nearby festival with the muggy summer heat weighing down on them. He used to be that age, he thinks absently, but was he ever that carefree?

"Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice."

Akaashi is staring at his iced coffee.

"How so?"

A warm breeze plays with Akaashi's bangs. A five year old with a giant obi tied in a bow runs past, her mother sprinting after her, "I had offers. The Adlers and Tamaden Elephants were some of them. Not starting positions, but a foot into the door."

Sakusa thinks that scouts would be very stupid if they didn't consider Akaashi an MVP player, regardless of Fukurodani only making through Best 32 last year. He wonders why Akaashi wasn't invited into Japan's U-19 camp.

Instead, he looks at Akaashi's giant eye bags, "You've lost sleep over this."

"Don't you ever think about what could be?"

If Sakusa were to be dishonest, he would say no and tell him that volleyball is all he's known.

But over three months, Akaashi has turned from acquaintance into a companion.

Sakusa looks up. Summer solstice has passed, but the sun still lingers, painting the horizon with cool pinks and purples with giant cotton candy orange clouds. The pink up there was the same pink that rained down when Iizuna graduated, snot and all, declaring how he's very proud of them. It's the same pink as the sweatshirt Sakusa has in his closet, buried deeply, too small and given by his sisters before they left the house.

Graduating high school made him think a lot about his teammates these days, how they've said goodbye to the sport that were their everything and plunged headfirst into school or the work force, how some of them went straight into D1 and D2 teams.

Iizuna, Komori, Atsumu, Bokuto, Yaku, Hoshiumi, Ushijima and Kageyama went straight into the league. There are many more that he missed, he's sure.

Akaashi, Osamu and Kuroo in comparison, gave it up. Each for their own reasons, but Sakusa wonders how they could step away so bravely.

Sakusa was the only one who did both volleyball and school. He's the black sheep, just like how he's the only athlete in his family of doctors and surgeons.

He untwists the cap of the green tea bottle and takes a swig, "I do think about it, if I should stop now before an injury takes me out."

Akaashi watches as he carefully screws on the cap, feeling the grooves of the cap pinched between his thumb and first two fingers, the shouts of happy children surrounding them, "But?"

"But I'm afraid."

Volleyball is all they've ever known. It automatically makes Akaashi the braver one, to fully quit and embrace a new beginning while Sakusa tries to have one foot in each world.

What if he quit and regretted it down the line? But on the opposite hand, what if he never quit, got himself injured early into his career and had to catch up with people four or five years his junior by going to school? 

In his case, he's glad that he can do both at the same time. But still, it's scary to walk into practice each day because Komori is hundreds of kilometers away and expectations follow his footsteps, people congratulating him for doing school and volleyball at the same time.

He likes anonymity. He likes living in Tokyo, where the population is on an upward trajectory and currently sits at 9.2 million. He likes sitting in Tokyo Station on a rainy day when all the tourists are taking shelter to sit in one of the benches, watching people race for the trains, purpose pounding after their steps.

There, he's a nameless boy with black hair in a city of millions.

Here in Waseda, he's afraid that his identity is slipping away as he tries to find his footing.

Akaashi disappears for finals season. Sakusa does too, come second semester when the collegiate volleyball matches start up and broadcast channels remind viewers at home that he carries a certain legacy.

Sakusa hates it. He tells Akaashi so when his phone lights up and they go for late night ramen at Akaashi's favorite hole in the wall.

They take their seats and Akaashi rants about project partners and students who don't take things seriously. Sakusa watches him, mystified and slightly jealous, because Akaashi, bordering on passing out and solely running on caffeine, seemed to have finally found his home in his literature department.

They slurp noodles and hitch their backpacks up after they paid, stepping back outside and wandering over to a vending machine for hot drinks. Sakusa thinks about being left behind once more, and whether Akaashi's train will leave Sakusa's train station.

"How does it feel to do volleyball and school?"

Sakusa raises his eyebrows. He bought hot lemon tea because it's the cusp of flu season, "Curious?"

Akaashi nods.

The drink is both warm, sour and sweet at the same time. It trails down his throat and makes a path into his stomach. Sakusa can't help but think of the time Iizuna bought this for him after the 2012 Interhigh when Itachiyama won first place and of the consecutive times Sakusa craved for it in the quiet hallways of Ajinomoto's training center, snores coming out of the boy's dormitory as players from across the country flock to play volleyball.

He thinks of one Miya Atsumu, who took the warm can pressed to his bare knees, covered in bruises, as Sakusa walked away without his drink because he knew how loneliness felt.

"Lonely."

"But better now," He gives Akaashi a small smile, "Thanks to a friend."

Akaashi's mouth tugs upwards, half hidden behind his can of black coffee. They meander their way to the train station where he and Akaashi hover. 

Goodbyes are usually quick and painless but tonight they linger at the station as their trains come and go.

Komori would tell him that Sakusa's not giving people chances.

So he decides to prove his cousin wrong.

He and Akaashi toss a volleyball between them until they nearly miss the last train. Akaashi's bright grin and flushed cheeks, red from the cold, had lingered in Sakusa's mind long after he'd gotten home to an empty house. 

He decides to sit closer to the front of the lecture hall, near the foot aisle. It's slow, but he befriends someone in his health sciences class and he agrees to be her partner when the professor assigns them their last project before winter break.

He stretches in his usual manner after practice and agrees to join the team when they go out for yakitori. They overreact and promise to buy him a lemon sour before they realize he's still underage, but still whoop around him like how they obliterated Chuo the other day.

He meets Akaashi for coffee on campus, though their time with each other become rarer and rarer as Akaashi joins the literature club and Sakusa has accepted his teammates with open gloved hands.

Come second year and cherry blossoms, he is on the starting lineup.

He and Akaashi set time aside to meet. Akaashi recommends him books to read and Sakusa invites him to his too large house on game days, watching the Jackals eek out another win from the Falcons. He watches as Akaashi's eyes melt at the sight of Bokuto, clapping as the television shows a replayed spike that sealed the Jackals' win in slow motion.

Where Akaashi sighs fondly over his boyfriend, Sakusa takes a mental note of the blond setter, of a figure he knows well from camps.

Perhaps it was how Waseda flattened Keio in a practice match today, his body slipping into a bone tiredness that only comes after winning against a good competitor that Sakusa opened his mouth and told Akaashi a secret only Komori knows.

"I used to date him."

Akaashi whips his head from where the television is showing Bokuto doing his signature beam, " _Excuse me?_ "

"Not Bokuto-san," Sakusa says, eyes on the screen. Miya Atsumu comes into view next, running across the court to tackle his teammate in a hug as the Jackals start to dog pile, "The blond setter."

Akaashi is quiet, "Why did you two break it off?"

"...We grew up, I guess," Being seventeen felt so long ago, even he's only nineteen. Seventeen, in Itachiyama, with the safety net of Komori nearby while Sakusa juggled being a captain and also not failing his classes, felt like an entirely different world as he tried to contain the light, fluttery feeling in his chest.

It's odd. When he sees Atsumu on screen, always crouching so low— are his knees alright?— to set from the most impossible angle when he could have bumped the ball back up, it feels like seeing an entirely different person. Sure, he remembers his favorite food and the memories that were shared, but there must be more to him than just fatty tuna.

He doesn't recognize the Atsumu on television. 

Would Atsumu recognize him? Is his current self the same Sakusa Kiyoomi that existed two years ago?

"He's still on your mind," Akaashi says, because he's good at reading between the lines and deciphering Murakami works when Sakusa has to re-read passages over and over again and look up on the internet what the author was trying to get across.

Komori had told him to put the book down and focus on his physics course. Sakusa told him that he doesn't see how calculating the acceleration of objects in different planets would help towards his sports science degree, but he does put the book down and nod robotically the next time he and Akaashi met up at a coffee shop, Akaashi sniffing at the use metaphors.

Sakusa feels a bit like an object in another planet now, moving slower through the atmosphere as Akaashi works calculations on him.

"I do wonder sometimes," Sakusa remembers the first phrase Akaashi uttered to him, "About what could be."

Once he settled down and found his footing (how aggravating that Komori is always right, that all Sakusa needed to do was allow people in), he flicked on the television after coming home from the first team hang out at Torikizoku and saw Atsumu's face beam as he gives a feral grin to the camera, a service ace getting the crowd wild on their feet.

He'd look bulkier, less blond, hair more of a platinum. His serves will be annoying to dig, Sakusa thinks, immediately sitting down on his couch when he should really start soaking in the tub and stretch his shoulder out.

It's no surprise he spent the rest of the night furiously watching his ex-boyfriend on Youtube and catching up to him. He skipped his first class the next morning to sleep in and his teammates noted how fired up he seemed to be.

"Like, more so than usual," Yanagisawa said during their evening practice, clutching a ball to his chest like it'll protect him, "Which is good, don't get me wrong! So please! Keep going at it."

"Have you kept in touch?" Akaashi brings him back to his living room. 

And he's not seventeen and pining after someone five hundred kilometers away, nor is he eighteen and tracking his ex-boyfriend's plays across the internet while warming the bench, but nineteen and wondering about the what-ifs, as if he's seventy eight and old.

"Not really," What little news he would hear comes through the grapevine of the complicated web of professional players around his age, namely in the form of Miya Osamu who dates Suna Rintarou, who is Komori's teammate.

Akaashi's eyes are sad. Sakusa wonders why he's looking at him like that, "Not even when the Jackals come here to verse the Adlers?"

"No. He hangs out with his team," Sakusa's seen the pictures on SSN. He's also seen how Atsumu is constantly surrounded by fans even if he doesn't have a starting position.

Akaashi's mouth thins. Sakusa realizes.

Oh, Bokuto must have ditched the after party whenever he's in Tokyo to be with him.

"We're not like you two," Sakusa waves the concern away. It feels silly now, for Akaashi to be listening to a relationship that had sunk, "It's whatever, I'm lame for even remembering it. I'm sure he doesn't."

Akaashi speaks very softly. It's far too kind of what Sakusa deserves, "We don't have to talk about him, but...it's not whatever. The feelings you had for him...and how you think about him two years later...you don't need to brush it away."

Sakusa hugs a cushion to his chest, watching the television switch to an interview with the captain of the Falcons, still sweating and flushed. He thinks about text messages that grew sparser throughout the school year and the heavy want in his body as he stood next to Atsumu in their last year of the U19 camp, wishing he was brave enough to hook their fingers together.

"You know how people ask whether you miss him or the relationship?"

"Mhm."

"I do miss him," Sakusa tells the pillow, "Only sometimes. He would always send me pictures of what he's eating and then I wonder if I didn't put in enough effort."

He looks off to the side, where his neon green squirt water bottle is still in the side pocket of his backpack. It was a gift from Atsumu, a late Christmas present that he snuck into Sakusa's duffle bag before they went their separate ways at Nationals.

If his sisters and parents and Komori were trains that went forward to the next stop in life, Atsumu was a ghost train that wanders through Sakusa's empty station when he least expects it.

"My friends often think Bokuto-san and I are meant to be."

Akaashi pokes at the takeout Coco Curry they had delivered to Sakusa's house, pushing a mushroom around. 

On screen, the newscaster has moved on and is interviewing Meian Shugo. Akaashi had taken off his glasses a long time ago since eating level nine curry and glasses doesn't bode well, his glasses always slipping down his nose the few times they ate dinner there together.

Meian gestures to their benchwarmers who had been substituted in by Foster in the third set. Atsumu and Bokuto are still hugging each other and spinning their libero around.

"But it's still hard, you know? Every day, it's hard because he's all the way in Osaka and I'm here in Tokyo. Bokuto-san is always so sure that everything will work out but I always have thoughts about the what-ifs and they scare me."

The reporter interviews Bokuto after Meian, who bites his tongue twice because he's so excited to talk, almost vibrating. Sakusa watches as Akaashi gives the television a smile so fond it makes his heart creak, thinking of how he used to stare at Atsumu's good night pictures with the same smile on his face.

Sakusa thinks about hot lemon tea.

"Why did you stay?"

"Because I want to, even if I sometimes think we'll fall apart, I still choose him in the end."

_"Do you think it's a stupid answer?"_

_"No. I don't."_

Akaashi ended up falling asleep on the couch, waking up in a panic the next morning as Sakusa is about to leave for morning practice.

"I'm so sorry! What your parents will think of me—"

"It's fine, my parents slept at the hospital last night," Sakusa shrugs, noting the way their slippers on the genkan hadn't moved, "Do you have all your stuff?"

They stop by a conbini so Akaashi can pick up some onigiris and caffeine. Sakusa only buys more travel sized wipes since he's running out.

Akaashi sips black coffee like a zombie on the walk to the station, quiet. He looks rough. His black hair is sticking up like how it used to back in high school and the dark circles under his eyes are so dark they seem sentient.

"I'm sorry if I said too much yesterday."

"It's fine," Then, "Thank you for telling me."

Akaashi gives him a tired smile as they depart at the station. Sakusa spins him around to the right platform to stand on before Akaashi accidentally goes to their campus, waving at his friend and wondering if Atsumu setting for Bokuto ever made Akaashi feel uneasy.

Sakusa attends practice, secures Waseda's title as the champion of this year's intercollegiate competition and turns down confessions. Komori visits him during the holidays and they wander through Tokyo like they're third years again, navigating the confusing Shinjuku station like locals as they side-step puzzled tourists.

He's had Komori beside him for most of his life. The first few months into Waseda felt like someone had tossed him into a cold lake. Komori was in Hiroshima and Sakusa needed to learn how to float.

For all of the things that changed after they graduated, Sakusa is glad this one stayed the same.

He's reminded how Komori tugged him around when they were much younger, before he realized how dirty surfaces were, how Komori naturally led him around and showed him the world. They played volleyball, tried soccer, solved puzzles, played board games, watched the latest Detective Conan movie, and sourly sat in the same piano lesson for three years before their parents gave up.

Komori always led, Sakusa just followed.

"Akaashi and I tossed a volleyball until we missed the last train."

"How did that go?"

Sakusa hides his smile behind the can, feeling the last vestiges of warmth fading from the metal surface with lemons dotting the surface. It's winter after all, "Like forgetting how to walk? He picked it back up quickly after a bit."

"Yeah?" Komori gives a half smile, cocking his head, "He and Bokuto-san are still together, right? Must be nice, to have stability in that form."

"Seems like more of a problem, juggling different things as they settle in different phases of their lives."

"But they're okay now?"

"Seems like it."

Komori looks down at his lap, a peculiar mannerism he doesn't seem to realize he does anytime he wants to ask a heavy question. Sakusa starts the countdown in his head as his cousin makes the last bite of the katsu sandwich, chewing vigorously before swallowing.

_5, 4, 3, 2, 1._

"Anything new going on?"

"No," He watches as Komori nods in an all too casual way. Sakusa wishes he bought hot tea instead, sitting on the rooftop of one of the swanky department stores, running his tongue over his teeth and feeling the sugar coating his canines and molars; they're in need of a rinse, "Why?"

Komori shakes his head, "Just asking."

They used to tell each other everything. Komori was there when Sakusa mumbled his crush on Wakatoshi. He was there when Sakusa's youngest sister moved away, when his father left the house for five years to work in a remote village. He was there when Atsumu tugged him behind a hallway the morning they were leaving the U19 camp in their second year, pressing a package of Amagasaki's local umeboshi into Sakusa's chest, cheeks flushed and voice cracking.

He should tell Komori about Atsumu. When have they hid anything from each other?

He could see it in his head, his train at Komori's station chiming, warning passengers that the doors will close soon.

"Okay," Sakusa crushed the can in his hand, standing up. Bits of the clouds are starting to part, allowing some sunlight to enter, "Do you want to look at runners?"

He supposes it's natural that people drift as they grow. Where did he hear that saying, about how some people were meant to stop in your life briefly before moving onto the next thing?

Another season of cherry blossoms come and go. Sakusa washes his hands diligently and becomes vice-captain of Waseda's Men's Volleyball Team in his third year. The practices are long and he begins to see scouts appear again, some of their faces familiar.

He only has eight course hours per week as a senior, but all free time he wished for as a freshmen vanished into the air when he works with the students in biomedical engineering with electrodes stuck to his skin as they tell him to flex his hand around. The pay isn't shabby and he's spared the trouble of travelling for a part time job.

He cracks open the Murakami books again, bored at home. He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until there's something covering his bare ankles and he jolts up, watching his mother jump.

"Oh, sorry."

His mother is still wearing her scrubs, glossy black hair tied into a bun as he swings his legs out of the way and plants them to the ground. He squints at the clock on the wall. Eight o'clock.

"Have you eaten, Kiyoomi?"

"No."

"I heated up some food, come here."

He watches, picking his nails below the table. His mother insists that she serves everything by herself, and Sakusa sees the potato croquettes from the bakery near the station placed on the table, as well as a container of nearly empty bonito and egg furikake before she shuffles in, carrying a pot of nabe with kitchen towels on the handles.

They eat in silence, the television running in the back for noise. All eyes are on Brazil currently, with Olympics and the women's synchronized diving playing. 

"How's school?"

He swallows a mouthful of mushrooms, "Fine. How's work?"

"...It's alright. Do you have enough money?"

He nods. He hadn't touched the thick envelope with his name written on it, slipped under his bedroom door like clockwork every time he starts a new semester. Instead, it sits in one of his desk drawers, gathering dust and only being pulled out when he needs to pay for classes.

He flits his eyes from the tablemat to his mother, looking away immediately when she catches him.

"I'm sorry," She says, voice soft. There's a bandaid around one of her fingers as she leans forward, drawing circles with the ladle as steam wafts up, "For raising you the way I did."

_I'm sorry I couldn't eat with you_ , hangs in the air. _I'm sorry we were too busy. I'm sorry I picked advancing my career over being home with you. I'm sorry that you knew the layout of your cousin's house better than this one._

This is something he hadn't been prepared for, graduating high school. He could deal with Komori and him growing apart, their friendship only sustained with video calls and messages that are replied to after several hours passed. He could deal with finding a new friend in Akaashi and his teammates. He could deal with the slackers in his course as he shoulders majority of the presentation, but he wasn't prepared for how honest his mother is.

She had him quite late compared to his sisters. It shows in her wrinkled forehead, the grey hairs that adorn her temples, the fine lines around her mouth and eyes. Sakusa realizes with a quiet pang in his chest that she looks properly old now, nearing sixty.

The front door opens and closes. A beat later, his father stumbles in, hair entirely white— when did that happen?— and his white dress shirt soaked with sweat before he takes a look at them and stops.

Sakusa looks down at the wrist guard on his right hand and remembers a memory.

He is three and tucked neatly into his mother's lap as his father enveloped his hand around his, pressing the tip of the pencil to the scraps of paper scattered on the table.

" _Your name is very easy to remember_ ," His mother had said, her hair tickling his cheek, " _One kanji from each of us._ "

A ball sticks in Sakusa's throat. 

"Oh," His father darts his eyes to the Chinese team diving and to the pot of nabe sitting on the table, "I'll...." He backs away when Sakusa stands, the chair making a loud scraping noise.

"Eat with us," Sakusa unsticks his throat. His father blinks at him, "Come eat dinner with Kaa-san and I."

His father blinks, giving a questioning look to his mother, as if waiting for a cue.

"Come sit, Kenji, I bought Yamamoto's croquettes."

"Alright," He says, taking a step forward before realizing how sweaty he is and taking a step back. Then he's vanishing through the door, his flustered voice echoing from the second story, "Uh, I'll take a quick shower first! Go ahead!"

A crash. Sakusa and his mother winces as his father yells that he's okay and he just walked into the hallway closet door for grab towels.

"He's so silly," His mother clucks, rising up and going to the kitchen, "Would you like a beer, Kiyoomi? I'm pouring some for Otou-san too."

Sakusa looks up from hiding his face, blinking back the tears, "Sure." The Chinese team receives a near perfect score and marches back up to the ten meter platform. 

His mother comes back with three Asahis and a bag of chips. Umeboshi flavored. Sakusa reaches into the bag and nibbles, watching his mother beam as his father storms down in a white t-shirt and athletic shorts.

Even after the nabe finishes, they linger at the table.

The quarterfinals of the men's volleyball game comes next. Sakusa is looking into Kageyama's back as he lands a service ace, Bokuto coming into view and slapping his back with a bright smile.

His mother's voice is small, "You were invited, right?"

He wonders how his parents view volleyball. To Sakusa, he automatically categorizes players, studying the way they do a run up and whether they have certain attacks they favor. It's what he does now, seeing their libero roll, the ball flying in a smooth arch as it leaves Kageyama's fingers. 

The ball paints the line, a specialty of Bokuto's.

"I did, but I injured my shoulder."

That is the reality of being an athlete. You train, prepare yourself, and inevitably get injured. It's a lot like the people around him as he grows up, the trains coming and going in stations. Sakusa falls asleep to Japan making it into the semifinals, dreaming of his father's hands carrying his small body to bed when he inevitably falls asleep in the car after piano lessons. 

It's a good memory, one that melts into a view of the orange court and the thrill of going up against a worthy opponent across the net.

His dreams take a turn for the odd. He is small and clutching onto his youngest sister's hand as Naomi leaves. He's chasing his second sister, Hitomi, through a field of tall grass, yelling at her to slow down as the sun shines so brightly in his eyes that he has to close them. 

When he opens them, he's sitting on Komori's dining chair, a half completed puzzle in front of him. He looks left and right, recognizing the living room before the addition of Komori's dog, Pesto, entered their lives. That's right, he always wanted a dog, but he didn't think his parents would be on board since they were out of the house so often.

" _Here, Kiyoomi!_ "

The puzzle that falls from Komori's hand morphs into a hot can of lemon tea. Sakusa sharply looks up and sees Iizuna, bangs falling down his forehead, a year before he discovered the wonders of hair pomade, flashing him a grin, " _Good work today!_ "

Itachiyama had won Interhigh. The gym, his green and yellow uniform fades until all that remains are his shoes.

He studies his yellow shoes, mouth opening in surprise when a pair of black runners enter his view. Wakatoshi shuffling awkwardly in front of him, face still slightly round; they're in Ajinomoto Center now.

" _I'm sorry, I don't feel the same way._ "

His field of view is covered in flowers and he looks up to see Iizuna graduating, blowing his nose on the handkerchief Sakusa gave him as a parting gift. The skies are pink again and he really hates that color now, transported to the practice match between Fukurodani and Itachiyama as he sneaks looks across the court at Akaashi.

Except. It's not Akaashi.

" _Omi-kun!_ "

He wakes up in a pool of sweat and groans, feeling the shivers starting as he crawls out of bed.

_Beep_.

He looks at the thermometer he stuck between his armpit. 38.4 Celcius.

"Are you sure we should be here?"

Sakusa has deep cleaned his house, glowering at Akaashi and Komori hovering at his genkan. 

Komori hums as he stuffs his feet into his old slippers, moving past him. Akaashi eyes the brand new ones Sakusa bought at the last minute, staring at the blue and white polka dot print.

"It's a summer cold," His voice is nasally and comes across crackly, but he's masked up and Japan will be playing the semifinal match soon. He's pretty sure that Akaashi won't make it home before the game starts, beckoning them to come further into his house.

"Trust him! His parents are doctors."

"Yes. I'm not dying."

"You sure sound like it," His cousin cheerfully says, entering his kitchen like he owns it, in search of cups, "Actually, you sound like a sexy phone operator. Perhaps a new part time job in your future?"

"You're disgusting," Sakusa complains, as Akaashi laughs behind him, the paper bag he's carrying holding their meals and some snacks, "Why did I even invite you?"

"Aw, like I'm not your favorite cousin? It's my off season and I came to visit family!"

"You're my _only_ cousin."

The sunlight coming in from the kitchen windows turns Komori's hair into a certain shade of brown he's familiar with, but can't pinpoint. His cousin's eyes crinkle in a smile, one hand holding the body of the giant container of aloe juice as his other hand hovers around the white bottle cap.

"You're my favorite cousin too."

Sakusa scoffs, but he thinks Komori caught his eyes crinkling above his mask.

Akaashi asks for plates and they set up in front of the television, the giant two liter bottle of aloe juice sitting nearby with the beers Sakusa pulls from the fridge gathering condensation on their gold and light brown cans. The early evening sun is still high and Sakusa hears the laughter of children running down the street as they race for candied apples and piping hot takoyaki at the shrine five blocks away.

Akaashi unzips his thin hoodie, revealing the black number 12 MSBY jersey with Bokuto written in large capital letters across the back. Komori cackles and teases him, popping the tab of his first beer. Sakusa fondly glances at them from his love seat, pushed some distance away so they don't catch what he has.

The teams march on, the crowd waving tiny Japan and France flags. Argentina had been beaten in an upset by Brazil. Whoever wins this game will head forward for the gold medal match in two days' time.

The whistle blows and Sakusa watches, forgetting that his mouth is on fire from the curry. Yanagida starts the match off with a powerful serve that gets dug. One, two and it's a block out by Kageyama, Bokuto and Wakatoshi. One point to Japan.

He, for some reason, is nervous, so he starts drinking, forgetting that alcohol on an empty stomach is dangerous. It's no surprise that he feels the disconnect between his head and body first, not even ten minutes into the game. This is his price for always skipping out on team parties; he's paying the toll of being a lightweight.

They all wince when Bokuto nearly rolls into the metal posts holding the nets together. Akaashi starts chanting prayers and throwing back beer like it's water.

"A net touch?" Komori yells at the TV, "What the fuck?"

Akaashi has his hands in his head, "Oh my god."

"Oh my god," Sakusa moans, when the slow motion camera replays and they see Bokuto's palms graze the white tape. The screen flashes back to real time Bokuto who is frowning and biting his lips, being patted on the back by Ushijima and Ishikawa.

They cheer as the sun sets, the French captain's first serve hitting the net and bouncing out of court. They completely forget about their meals until Japan secured the first set with a rally of 32-30, the teams taking a well-deserved break.

Sakusa's head spins when he tries to stand, but he knows this is because of the alcohol in his body, so he takes a quick bathroom break and doesn't think much when he stumbles back to the living room and sees his phone light up.

He frowns. Why did someone send him a picture of grapefruit chuhai and a katsudon set with a background of the men's volleyball game?

It's Atsumu.

_It's Atsumu!_ His brain yells.

Sakusa lets out a " _Geh!_ " and flings it away. 

It hits his cousin on the shoulder and Komori yelps, spinning around, "Kiyoomi, what the hell?" He picks up the phone and squints at the screen, " _Oh my god._ "

"Oh my god?" Akaashi echoes, perking up. There's curry sauce on the corner of his mouth. His glasses are on the table again, Sakusa can see beads of sweat pooling on his hairline.

"Are you going to reply?" He sees Komori's mouth move, before jerking his head to see Akaashi mouth the words _'Miya Atsumu'_. 

So it's not a hallucination. Atsumu's actually texting him for the first time since high school.

Deep in Sakusa's heart, something starts beating.

He firmly squishes it down, a fierce blush hanging around his cheeks. Is his fever back? He still remembers the dream he had of Atsumu calling his name again, wondering what that signified, "Don't know."

"Don't know?" Komori parrots, standing up and finally throwing the light switch on. They all wince at the sudden brightness as the second set starts, "You either want to reply or—"

"He's typing," Akaashi says, voice low and urgent. Komori makes a noise and brings Sakusa's phone back up, a black iPhone XR because he's tired of typing away on the tiny screen of his old, hand-me-down 6S.

Sakusa stands up on wobbling feet, feeling like a newborn deer, and swipes his phone away from his friends. He looks down at the three dots appearing and disappearing.

He nearly drops his phone from his sweaty hands, ignoring Bokuto's service ace and the Beam Cannon hopping up and down on television as Atsumu's message finally appears.

Miya A [20:03]: look i know this is out of the blue but  
Miya A [20:03]: im going to tokyo next week to drop off plums from our tree for a relative  
Miya A [20:03]: do you wanna get dinner? with me?

Sakusa thinks about adulthood, hot cans of lemon honey tea in his hands, fifteen year old Atsumu being lonely, his awkward confession to Wakatoshi, his parents taking multiple business trips in his second and third year of high school, his second love fizzling out due to distance and the maddening hatred he has for the pink cherry blossoms because it represented another year of him missing what he used to have.

But not everything had to be difficult. Wasn't that one of the things Akaashi loves to say?

In the hazy fog of alcohol, he recalls the way his father had stared at him when Sakusa invited him to sit down and eat dinner, the way his mother's eyes softened when he called her "Kaa-san", Akaashi's cheeks and ears turning red as they nearly missed the last train, his hands cradling the volleyball and his teammates laughing next to him while Sakusa hides his smile behind a glass of water.

Trains come and go. They run at their own schedules. There are trains that travel in a circle, always coming back to him, like Komori. There are one way trains, only passing his station once and never coming back.

The cicadas are loud outside. Isn't it ironic that Itachiyama's banner had been about effort and it took him three years to fully appreciate it?

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" He asks when Atsumu picks up the phone. Komori and Akaashi are hugging each other on the couch, ignoring the game as they stare at him, eyes wide.

Atsumu huffs a laugh, " _You sound weird, Omi-kun. You don't need to call if you want to reject me. A text is fine_."

"Will you be able to find me if I tell you to wait at Tokyo Station?"

" _The busiest station in the country? In a city of millions?_ " Atsumu laughs, sounding better than the interviews Sakusa watches from his bed. Sakusa immediately smiles at the timbre, " _No. Help me out more._ "

"Do you remember the name of the station you took to get to Ajinomoto Center?"

" _Motohasunuma Station_."

"I'll meet you there," Sakusa says, fond. 

**Author's Note:**

> ive been so overwhelmed at work these past two weeks. the noragami/atla au and other sakuatsu fics will have to wait a bit longer, apologies.
> 
> i had a very rough two weeks at work and broke down wondering if im working in the right field, so naturally, i wanted to write about sakusa's transition years, going from high school to university, of him separated and truly alone for the first time without komori by his side. but also, i wanted to write about faded second loves that were given the backseat because atsumu and sakusa were both captains of their respective schools, and how a spark could start when you least expect it (much like life).
> 
> to everyone who is overwhelmed/overworked, you're not alone
> 
> a message from your friendly healthcare worker: wash those hands! wear those masks! eat well and sleep lots so your immune system can fight the flu season


End file.
